


Now You Were Standing There (Right in Front of Me)

by 27tattoos



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Books, Complete, Fluff, I don't know im not good at this stuff, M/M, REALLY short story, Reading, Short Story, maybe a bit of angst?, this is really jumbled and just all around weird so sorry, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27tattoos/pseuds/27tattoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has always loved his thoughts, but his favorite is one he calls Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now You Were Standing There (Right in Front of Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Don’t Let Me Go by Harry Styles (duh)
> 
> I really have no idea where this story idea came from. It just like, erupted, I guess. Anyway. I hope you like. And **massive** thank you to @something1d for reading through this and making sure it wasn’t too shitty  <3
> 
> You can find me on tumblr (winterlouie) or ask.fm/More_Than_Stan if you have any questions :)

One might say that when Harry Styles was born, he had already read a thousand and one books and understood much more than he was supposed to. 

He was taken home from the hospital, put into a crib, fed, all that boring stuff. He was looked after, taken care of, all the important things that parents can do.

But perhaps, the most important thing that his parents did for him was read to him.

They read hundreds and hundreds of books to him every minute they could spare, and Harry would always watch and listen attentively as they told him the story. Books had always fascinated him.

He learned to read by himself and oh! That was so lovely. He read maybe thousands of books, pouring over each page, dedicating every second of his life to reading.

Harry loved books so much, that one day he decided to write one of his own. 

He grabbed a pen, paper, all those silly things required to write a book. He sat and started to write, and the words came out beautifully, scrabbling and arranging themselves like poetry across his page. He wrote things that were far too wise for someone like you and I, far too handsome for anyone but himself to understand just yet.

So, he decided, maybe it’s best that I keep my book to myself.

He wrote. He thought up many characters and lines and quotes, and he kept them all there on his paper, safely tucked away where only he could pick and explore them. He thought up magic and dragons and things that are possible only in a mindspace, and he named them and kept them all organized in his mind. Like a filing cabinet, if you will.

Harry loved his book. It was his escape route, the only place in the world where he could go and not feel so lonely, even if it was for only a few seconds. His book was his friend.

Harry grew older, to the ripe old age of twelve where you’re not yet old enough to be treated like a grown-up, but not young enough to be able to act like a child. Books are silly, his father would say in his powerful, quiet voice. I can’t have you wasting time on old books when you could be out and about, furthering your education, getting pay.

Harry liked school well enough. His teachers were kind, they let him read, but he still felt lonely at school, even surrounded by hundreds of chatty children, and so to his book he went.

But the book was different this time. 

Harry’s book had changed. He read it endlessly, tiring out the aging pages, trying to understand what exactly went wrong with it, but nothing was wrong with it. Harry had simply grown up. 

So he decided to try something else. He thought of a boy.

Surely a boy will be able to keep up with me, and be able to grow as I grow, he thought. This boy will be my friend. He’ll stay with me for a long, long time. He’ll stay with me even after I get sick of him and don’t want him anymore, and even after I miss him and want him again. 

So he grabbed an entirely new pen and an entirely new piece of paper, and he wrote, and he dreamt up the most beautiful boy one could imagine. He had soft, brown hair that felt like downy to the touch, and quiet, calm features, and giant, sparkling blue eyes that gave Harry the sensation he was falling. 

Harry was quite proud of his boy. All that was left was a name, and so Harry named him the most beautiful name he could think of. It was only fitting, after all.

‘His boy’ became ‘Louis’, and Louis was certainly breathtaking. He smiled at Harry from the paper and Harry knew in his heart that Louis was by far his best thought.

From that moment on, Harry hardly ever left Louis. Partly because Louis was his brand-new, grown-up friend, and partly because Louis hated being alone, and Harry hated seeing him in distress. So he stayed.

Louis quickly became Harry’s favorite, for two reasons: one, he was very wise and always influenced philosophies and ideas that Harry hadn’t thought possible, and two, he was so, so beautiful. Harry often found himself staring at his image of Louis for hours upon end, admiring his eyes and smile and eyes. Louis had such kind eyes.

Whenever Harry came home from a long, boring, Louis-less day at school, he would rush to his room so fast his mother could just barely inquire about his day and give him a pat on the head. Harry would always mutter a rushed, thoughtless reply and shut his door, quickly jotting down his thoughts of the moment and hearing Louis’ opinions on them.

It was a wonderful routine. Harry was happier than he’d been in ages.

However, the more he spent time in his room, talking to Louis the thought, the more his mother became worried. 

“Why do you spend so much time in your room?” she asked Harry when he’d made one of his rare appearances into the kitchen.

Harry simply smiled and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “All my friends are there.”

****

Eventually, Harry grew older. He became broader, and his voice got much deeper, and he was _almost_ as tall as Gemma. He moved on from primary to secondary, and he made some more friends, but no  
one ever compared to his little boy Louis, who wasn’t exactly little any more. Louis had kept his promise, and he had aged as Harry aged, but he still looked as beautiful as ever.

One night, Harry’s parents started to argue. Harry thought nothing of it; they argued all the time, over silly things like who forgot to do the dishes. But this particular night, it got bad, and Harry was scared. He didn’t know what to do, so he called on Louis. Louis always knew what to do.

Louis held him. He sang Harry’s favorite song very quietly in his ear, so as not to disturb Harry’s other thoughts that were best put away for the night. He wiped Harry’s tears as they fell, and his touch was so soft, it sent shivers down Harry’s spine. 

“Louis,” Harry whispered, clutching his blankets. He wanted to say more, but Louis understood. After all, he was part of Harry’s very own mind; he knew every thought and idea that raced through Harry’s head. He was the one that helped sort them when they got too hectic. But Louis was wise, and he knew what to do.

He planted a soft, sweet kiss onto Harry’s lips, and he could immediately feel Harry relax. 

“Did you feel that, Haz?” Louis dared ask, feeling a sudden urge to munch on his nails until they were stubs. But Harry smiled.

“’Course I felt it, Lou. Thanks.”

And Harry drifted off to sleep, and Louis slept right there with him, and everything was good.

****

Harry kept getting older. He moved onto his next year, and his intellect and wisdom and love for books only got stronger. The more he read, the more he supplied Louis with ideas, and what wonderful ideas they were. Stuff like hope and happiness and love. That was perhaps Louis’ favorite, love.

True to his word, Louis kept aging along with Harry. Louis was still, even after all this time, Harry’s favorite thought, even though Harry had many other beautiful ones, ones with raven black hair and puppy-dog-eyes and sunshine smiles. 

Harry first became aware of his attraction to men when he felt odd stirrings in his chest as the boys in his gym class undressed around him. It scared the living hell out of him at first, but of course Louis came around to sort him out, and he became brave again. He admitted it to his mother first, who was proud, and Gemma second, who knocked him up the head and said ‘I knew it’.

But when he came out to the school it was an entirely different story.

Harry spent many periods locked in a toilet stall, or hiding in a closet, so as to avoid the kids who would come to attempt to ‘straighten him out’. He was terrified, but Louis was always there to make it better, to chase away the ugliest thoughts and replace them with himself. I’ll always be here, Louis would whisper into Harry’s ear, and Harry’s tears would stop almost instantaneously.

****

Harry kept growing. He started to bring boys home, boys with clean eyes and polite smiles and courteous speech, boys that his mother almost always approved of. Louis couldn’t explain it, but it made him sad, even though Harry was as happy as ever.

Louis was sad because Harry didn’t talk to him anymore. He was now a rusty thought; one that was pushed to the very back of Harry’s mind and abandoned, no longer important.

Louis was getting weaker, because without Harry there to think him up, he had no energy to do anything but sit and feel sad as Harry lived his life.

****

Harry kept on growing, even though it made his mother very sad, and he decided to head to Uni. He packed up all his things, and he drove all the way to a fancy building with a hard-to-pronounce name and snobby professors who Louis didn’t quite like, but Harry seemed to love them.

He met a new roommate, and he made loads of new friends, and he got a job at a tiny bakery. He was the happiest he had ever been, and it should have made Louis angry, but all Louis could feel was happiness, because the boy he loved was finally, finally happy.

But then the boy came.

The boy that Louis could sense Harry loved the first time he saw him. Louis looked at the boy; he was certainly beautiful, but Harry could do much better. Harry didn’t seem to think so, though, because he went out on lots of dates with this boy. Louis tried to protest, he tried to warn Harry that this boy was nothing but trouble, but he was so weak, that his cries went unheard. Harry gave himself to the boy, and the very next day, the boy left.

Harry cried lots and lots. He cried so much that his mind started to cloud, and his thoughts, his beautiful thoughts, started to fade, but Louis stayed. Harry thought of Louis again, and Louis regained his strength, and he wrapped his arms over Harry’s shoulders and sang his favorite song in his ear, just how he liked. “Thank you so much, Lou. You’re still my best friend, you know,” Harry said, and he was happy again, but Louis was not.

For Harry had kept Louis in his heart for so long, that Louis had started to develop a heart of his own, and right now, Louis’ heart ached. It ached so bad, it almost hurt, and Louis couldn’t even explain why.

****

Harry decided to leave his University. He sent notes to all his teachers and he packed up his things and he left to start a new life in a new city.

All the while, Louis was dying.

Harry didn’t need him anymore; he was a big boy now, a grown man. He didn’t need a silly little thought like Louis to keep him company. And so Louis was pushed far, far back into the shadows, and he was never fed ideas anymore, because Harry didn’t read. Harry smoked. Harry drank. And Harry was so, so sad.

All Louis could do was sit in Harry’s mind and watch as Harry destroyed his life. Harry became so sad, that all his beautiful thoughts vanished, and were replaced with looming, grotesque shadows that scared Louis every time they passed. He named them Harry’s demons.

Perhaps the worst part of all of this was that Harry was alone. He was very much alone. His smile was gone. The light in his eyes disappeared. And Louis became just an outline with a fluttering heartbeat, because Harry had forgotten him.

****

Harry became very, very old. He became so old that he could no longer walk.

He was very lonely. He lived in a dusty old apartment that smelled of cheap alcohol and misery. His brown curls turned to grey and all he ever did any more was sit and stare out the window, dreaming of bigger and better things.

Meanwhile, Louis was almost entirely dead. 

It had been years since Harry had even thought of the name Louis, let alone Louis himself. Louis couldn’t overcome the feeling that he had failed Harry. He was supposed to be Harry’s rock, his friend, and he wasn’t. He had left him to be sad, and now Harry is going to die right along with Louis.

Harry, however, had different plans.

He grabbed a sheet of paper and one of his very favorite pens, and he began to write. He began to write of blue eyes and sparkly smiles and soft hair. He wrote every single thing he could ever remember about his boy Louis, and with each scratch of the pen, Louis’ heartbeat started to get stronger.

Harry wrote for minutes. He wrote for hours. He wrote for days, just writing everything, and before long, Louis was standing before his eyes and he had practically written a novel.

“Louis,” Harry whispered, a tear in his eye upon seeing the boy he had loved for years now. “I’m sorry.”

Louis shushed him promptly. “Nonsense, Harry, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one that should be sorry, I left you. I was weak.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. I was selfish. I stored you away, in case I ever needed you again, and I forgot about you. I forgot. I’m sorry,” he cries, and Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders in that age-old way and quietly rasps Harry’s favorite song into his ear.

Harry grips onto the ghost of Louis’ wrists. “Louis. Listen to me, please, for just a second.”

Louis nodded and let go of Harry shoulders, now listening intently and hanging onto every word.

“You are the most beautiful thought that I have ever been capable of thinking,” Harry whispers, his voice weak with sickness and age. “And I think it entirely unfair that only I get to experience something so breathtaking. So, I’ve written everything there is to remember about you –“ Harry traces a finger down Louis’ cheekbone, his thumb softly stroking Louis’ wrinkled skin. “So you can keep living, once I have gone, and maybe you can find someone that gives you the love you deserve.”

A tear springs into Louis’ eye. “No. No, you can’t just leave me here, Harry, not after all this. I love you, you know, so you can’t just leave me.”

Harry smiles sadly. “I’m afraid I must, darling.”

Louis looks down and tries to stop the stream of tears threatening to pour from his eyes, but it’s no use. Harry runs a finger under his chin and smiles.

“Hey now, don’t cry. You’ll be fine.”

They stay together after that, Harry holding Louis and Louis holding Harry. It’s so peaceful and quiet, until Harry starts to feel his body protest against itself.

“’S time to go, Lou,” he whispers, unclenching his hands from Louis’. He looks at Louis and says I love you one last time, and then he is gone.

And then a strange thing happens.

If you and I were to ever write down a thought, it would stay on that paper for ages and ages, and it would never perish, save someone got rid of it. Because once that thought is down on that paper, it is no longer our thought. It’s simply just a thought, floating around in space, belonging to nobody and waiting for someone to claim it and call it their own.

But Louis was different. He had lived within Harry for so long, that he had received a heart of his own, but he had completely given it to Harry. Louis was not ‘just a thought’. He was Harry’s thought. He was Harry’s boy.

And so, when Harry traveled up and up, into that part of time and space that we will never understand, Louis went with him.

Harry could feel a presence alongside him, and he turned, but no one was there. He simply shrugged and blamed it on paranoia, and began to walk. But before Harry could depart into the unknown, he felt a firm, warm hand fitted against his, and he sighed, greeting Louis with a surprised, yet happy all the same, smile.

And if one happened to look back at that stack of papers in a dusty old room written about a thought named Louis, they might find that all of the pages were blank.


End file.
